Friends, Love, Beer and Sex
by Anita-Louise
Summary: He wants to hurt her, throw at her every bad feeling that he’s ever felt. Because he’s fed up of being the hero; the one who fixes. He’s just a man, one man.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Friends, love, beer and sex.  
**Author: **Anita-Louise.  
**Rating:** R for sexual situations.  
**Pairing:** Jack/Kate.  
**A/N:** Feedback equals love.

Jack heaves a sigh as he comes around the clearing onto the beach, the salty air hitting his senses and rejuvenating his body. Four days of walking have worn him thin, and to know that he is safe, home, it fills him with a sense of calm. He knew that Ben wouldn't have sent him back to LA, knew it with all his heart -- if he could have, then why were They still here? It was a fool's dream. But here, this is his home, and although there are no Starbucks, no televisions, no suits … he has friends. And he realises that friends and love and beer and sex are all a man really needs.

Jack can hear the chattering of the others on the beach now, and it brings a rueful smile to his face. Most of them are still so innocent, so normal. He's shuffling his feet, lethargy hitting him now, and his shoes leave trenches in the powder-soft sand in his wake.

All of a sudden comes the chorus of "Jack!" and "It's the doctor!".

And then there's her.

Kate.

He stumbles slightly, the full force of Kate's weight hitting him as she throws her arms around his neck. It reminds him of a more innocent and easy time; all they had to worry about was rescue and where the next meal was coming from, back then. His ribs are bruised, maybe broken, and his face and body are black and blue; he hasn't forgotten what she did, what she's done, but in that moment she's happy to see him and he feels that familiar feeling rise in his belly, and he allows himself to feel it one more time. One last time.

After a few moments, he drops his hands back down to his sides and Kate stares into his eyes questionably, and Jack realises that he has to shut her out, because as Sawyer wanders over, everything's changed. And it can't be what it once was, because there never was anything to start with.

Sawyer claps his shoulder roughly with a "good to have you back, Doc", and Jack smiles falsely at him before slowly extracting himself from the group and entering his tent feeling as though he's in a dream. His head swims and it's like he's floating.

Everything is still in its rightful place, untouched from three weeks before. Once the flaps of the tarp have fluttered closed, he allows himself to collapse onto his bed letting out a quiet groan, feeling the tender skin of his torso ache and throb as he does so.

The lack of silence has his senses buzzing, the solitude of being in the aquarium having dulled him. Very little noise and interaction and living on a constant threat have left him drained and exhausted. And all the while picturing them, the image seared into his brain constantly running like a film. He feels ashamed. He should have seen, should have known.

Fuck, he could do with a beer right about now, and wishes that Dharma weren't so stingy when it came to alcohol. Wine's all fine with French cuisine, and a pretty lady to dine, but beer's a man's drink, cold and crisp to the taste. Bitter and harsh and everything a woman's not.

As he feels himself drifting along the fine line between consciousness and sleep, he hears a timid cough and he sits up abruptly at the noise, nerves shot, and he feels his pulse race.

"Sorry, Jack, I didn't mean to wake you…" she whispers apologetically. "I'll come back later." and makes to leave the tent.

"No, it's alright. I wasn't sleeping, not really." He can't help but feel the stab in his heart when he looks at her and she flashes that big grin, the one he thought she saved just for him. He was apparently wrong. His whole body wants to scream at her, to make her realise how much he hurts, but he sits there in silence, fingering the thread-bare blanket waiting for her to make the first move, to speak again.

They share an uncomfortable silence.

She can't possibly know that he knows, but she has sensed the shift in their relationship. Gone are the easy conversations of flirty banter and trust. Yes, he trusted her once. Now? Now, he's not sure. Jack knows that he trusts people far too easily, and it's always him that gets hurt in the end.

She clears her throat and he unwillingly tears his face away from his lap to look at her, and That feeling rises once more; traitorous and tender, he can't bear it. It's all about trust.

"Your side…" Kate indicates to his chest, and he curses her for noticing. "What happened to it? What did they do t--"

"Nothing, Kate, I'm fine. Really." He interrupts her, not wanting her care or her sympathy right now, and he smiles as if to prove his point.

She sits there quiet for a moment, processing this, and then with a small smile on her face, says:

"Liar."

Jack feels something snap in him. Years of being told to 'hold it in like a man' fly to the wind and…

"What am I supposed to say then, Kate? What is it exactly that you want to hear? That, after you and Sawyer had gone, they shut me up in a cage? That they treated me like shit? And all I could do while they were beating the crap out of me because of what I did… was see you. And him." He sees her face pale, and her lips thin until they are nearly ashen.

"Yeah, I saw, Kate. And you may come in here thinking that nothing's changed, that we're still in the same place we were and everything's fucking fantastic, but, guess what… It's not. And I don't care. Because, now that I think back, there was nothing. Not really. But I really thought… God. That perhaps, just once, I could…" He trails off, breathing heavily and his chest aches even more. He wants to hurt her, throw at her every bad feeling that he's ever felt. Because he's fed up of being the hero; the one who fixes. He's just a man, one man. Friends, love, beer and sex, remember?

He leans forward, right into her space, right into her face, almost touching, almost kissing, and he can feel it; fear, emanating from her, and then, something else. He can feel her breath puff fast against his chin and she's breathless, and this is what he wants, wants more than anything.

She closes her eyes slowly, not moving, and whispers "I'm sorry, Jack, I am so sorry." And, as her gaze meets his once more, he has to do it, it's his last chance and, thankfully, she makes the first move, once again, and captures his lips gently, caressingly. It's tender, and sweet, and he brings his hand to the back of her head drawing her closer to him. It's quiet now, to him at least, the only noise he can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears, and he feels his whole world narrow to right now.

He feels her tongue probing at his lips, and he opens his mouth, relishing the feel and the taste and how good it feels. How long it's been. As she moans into his mouth, he fists his hands in her hair, fingers catching on the tangles, anchoring her to him. She's not Sawyer's, not now, not in this moment; she's his.

As Kate begins to run her hands over his chest, he groans as she presses on a tender spot. She whispers gentle apologies into his mouth, before placing her lips over the offending area, her mouth warm through the thin material of his t-shirt. It's clear what she wants, and he knows he wants the same, and he pushes the flash of her and Sawyer entwined away in his mind. He doesn't want to be 'Jack' at this moment. He wants to be a man, a purely carnal man, who listens to what he wants, what he urges for, and doesn't think and rationalize and plan. He wants to let go.

He feels confused, his brain foggy. He feels drunk.

She draws away and he watches her as she peels the clammy tank top away from her skin, admiring her taut and lean stomach, her small rounded breasts.

He loves how unabashed she is.

Jack leans forward and kisses the soft, milky flesh where the sun hasn't marked her, nestled between her breasts and smells the sweet powdery scent of her flesh. On his lips, she tastes tangy and bitter and raw, and he loves the juxtaposition. Two sides to Kate, and two to him, and he knows that this moment, they're equally matched. The slate's clean. She throws her head back, a groan on her lips, and he kisses her there harder. Each kiss, each bruise another claim; mine, mine, mine. Somewhere, deep in the haze in his mind, he wonders what Sawyer will say, will think tomorrow. Tonight.

Everything's moving quicker now, and his shirt is gone, thrown somewhere on the floor, and so are her pants and panties, and they're both breathing fast, so fast, and he's heady, his skin flushed and oh, God, it feels so right, so good. He knows it shouldn't be like this; there should be wine and candles and French cuisine, not beer and frantic fucks and chafed skin, bruised and raw and broken, but there's no stopping now. Not. Now.

She's still on top of him now, and they're moving together, and he can feel her tense and tremble, and it's good, it's great, and this is it, their last chance, HIS last chance. He looks into her eyes, and makes her look at him, and it hurts, it fucking hurts because he sees what he feels reflected back at him as she gives in to her release, and he to his, and she lays her sweaty face to his shoulder and he's not sure whether it's really sweat or tears or a mixture of both.

He feels her lips move, burn into his skin, and he feels her words sear his heart. So quiet that he almost thinks he imagined it, but he knows, and he kisses her one last time as she gently pulls herself off him, feeling the cool air hit him like a sledgehammer on his over sensitised skin.

They say nothing as both put on their respective clothes, their armour, and he fusses with a tear at the hem of his shirt. There's nothing they can say; he knows where she's going, still smelling of powder and citrus and sex. She lets out a sigh, worn and troubled as she does up the final few buttons to her jeans. One's missing, ripped right from the stitch and he thinks that he will have to hunt it down for her. The thought of himself hunting in the sand for a missing button makes him laugh, and the action causes his ribs to protest as the throws of adrenaline wear off.

She stares into his eyes, saying words that can't be said, not now, not tonight, not tomorrow, but maybe, sometime in the future when the air is new and fresh, and the sunlight burns brighter.

And it hurts.

Hurts so fucking much.

But he knows she'll be back tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a while, so am just testing the water...

:

It's mid-day before he rises, and his body hurts even more than the day before, if that's indeed possible. He checks out the bruising on his torso to see if it has spread, hissing through his teeth as he comes upon a particularly sore spot deep in his rib-cage. He's sure the ribs themselves aren't broken but they hurt like a bitch, and he reaches over into his small, meagre stash of medical supplies that he managed to save after the crash, popping out two Tylenol pills and swills them down with water.

Jack sighs heavily, his thoughts subconsciously drifting to the night before, and a hint of shame washes over him. It would be so easy to say that it was a moment of weakness, after what had been an intensive few weeks, hell, few _months_. But it was more than that, and he knows that she knows it too.

As he twitches the tarpaulin aside, the heat of the sun burns his face and he thinks he can still smell her, that sharp, tangy scent, which makes the blood rush to his cock. It's all about what he wants and what he thinks he wants, and he swears as he clambers uneasily to his feet, swaying a little. The world feels off kilter and he likes it.

_Shit_.

He searches the beach, his eyes scrutinising the small groups of people, carrying out their daily tasks. Making the beach a home seems so _final_ to him, another thing that he failed at regardless of what he felt the day before, and it's another thing to add to the list.

Sayid walks up to him, a small smile on his lips; he's pleased to see him, but they won't talk about that, because that's not what they do. But he wants to know what happened and how and why, and Jack can answer those questions because they're facts, and it's methodical, and his head has to rule over his heart. Man of science, he keeps telling himself. Man of science.

"So, Jack... is everything all right?"

"I'm fine."

Sayid nods, before continuing his informal interrogation and Jack

dutifully answers all that he can, while keeping his eyes open for Kate; he needs to speak to her, it's a burning itch, and his mind keeps wandering, flashing to the night before. Sayid's voice, worried now, drifts through to his consciousness and he snaps back to reality.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" He asks again, more concerned now.

"Yeah, honestly, I'm just tired... look, I gotta go, okay?" He replies, after seeing Kate out of the corner of his eye, and hurries away as quickly as he can without drawing attention to the fact.

He presumes that she's been out gathering fruit, because her backpack is full to the brim, and she looks sweaty. He notices that she's wearing a high-necked t-shirt rather than the tank-tops she had been favouring recently, and it causes him to smile ruefully to himself. Jack has always been possessive, particularly in relationships, but never in sex. He's always been the good guy, the _gentleman_ and he feels a little bad, claiming her, _marking_ her like that.

She looks over at him now, and he sees a light blush high on her cheeks, and a small smile on her lips. She's blushing; blushing for him and he feels like a teenager with a crush on the hot girl in school.

"Hey..." she trails off, scuffing the sand with the toe of her boots, and then casts her gaze up, off the floor, right at him, and in that moment, he feels it again; their connection, the one that he hasn't really believed in and scoffed at, and it hits him with a jolt.

She's remembering it too, he can see it, and after a belated pause, he takes in a deep breath, willing his pulse to slow down, and his heart to stop pounding, and he thinks: is this love?

"Hey yourself."


End file.
